Secrets and Masks
by VanishedElf
Summary: A story revisiting the first night Ronan and Adam hook up. Like most of their adventures, it is unpredictable. pynch, transpynch, transronan, transronanlynch, Adam/Ronan, AdamparrishxRonanlynch, AdamxRonan, RonanxAdam, AdamParrish/RonanLynch


Dawn was Ronan's favourite time. It was a strange thing, given his past habits. Most Aglionby boys who drank as much as he was known to were notorious for their langour, sleeping through every customary meal of the day and waking only to repeat the same sordid affair as the evening before. It was the kind of debauchery summer allowed for, with so many parents away at cottages or Europe or business trips, leaving their towering mansions ripe for the kind of tomfoolery Aglionby boys loved most. That which was plain in its uniform originality, mundane in its tried audacity.

It would've been wrong to say that the things Ronan was known for were lies. Perhaps _illusions_ was a better word, or mirages, glittering ominously over a sheet of asphalt. He definitely drank a lot—or used to, rather—was maddening in all ways imaginable, and drove his car really, really fast. But that wasn't the end of the story. There was so much more to know than was often glimpsed, like the _reasons_ he used to drink so much, for example, or an even more covert line of inquiry: the reasons he'd recently cut back.

Dawn was a time of solace and privacy.

Before the sun rose, secrets could be let off leash without consequence.

It was neither dawn nor summertime, but Ronan's secrets were spilling out of him like tears on the day his mother had died. The sun had long set, the air was tepid, and Adam Parrish was standing on his balcony less than three feet away, leaning nonchalantly against the railing like a scarecrow knocked askew after a windstorm.

Neither of them spoke.

The Barns were never fully silent, but something about the moment felt heightened nonetheless, exposed, enormous. The two of them had not been alone, not _this_ alone, since the day Ronan had kissed Adam in his old room. Since, the question had begun to fray in Ronan's mind like a sail in a storm, ripped and battered but determined to reach its destination nonetheless.

He breathed in quickly, as if to speak, but immediately realized there was nothing to say. The air left him slowly, controlled, and as quietly as he could manage.

And then Adam was striding towards him, as though there were not a care in the world, had _never_ been a care in the world, and wrapping a single hand behind his neck, his fingertips grazing the surface of Ronan's tattoo and his face angled slightly to the side. Their lips met without a sound.

They kissed methodically, eagerly, and then frantically, and Ronan could feel his body contracting like an ice flow in spring. His bare feet shuffled over the deck, criss-crossing and dancing between Adam's boots as the two boys fought to get closer and closer to one another.

"Fuck," Adam breathed into Ronan's collar, one hand rucking the other boy's shirt up to expose half his chest.

"Yeah," Ronan gasped.

"It isn't enough."

"Yeah," Ronan repeated faintly, gripping the railing behind him with one hand to keep his balance.

"Hey." Adam's eyes slid to the left, loaded with intention. There was a moment of apprehension before he looked back, but when he did, his expression was resolute. "Want to go inside?"

Ronan, despite himself, hesitated. "Listen, Parrish..." he began, and then he stopped. The light in the foyer was on, illuminating one of his eyes like a sapphire gemstone. His face looked severe, hollowed out like a skull, or perhaps even a shadowed mask. Adam had managed to strip away most of them, thoughtfully and meticulously as he carried out most tasks, but Ronan had worn one in particular his entire life, even during his days at Monmouth. At this point he wasn't even sure if it _could_ be removed.

"It's fine," Adam assured, so easily it almost sounded comical.

Both of them looked at one another in disbelief. Before he could stop himself, Ronan began to laugh. He leaned over and rested his forehead on Adam's shoulder, cackling like he'd lost his mind.

"Fucking maniac." Adam smirked, grabbing Ronan's hand and yanking him through the door with so much force they almost knocked over a table loaded with Gansey's devices.

"Whoops," Adam said in earnest, bending down to retrieve a notebook that had slapped onto the ground. Before his fingers made contact, Ronan seized him around the waist and dragged him into the living room, tossing him onto the sofa. Adam made a loud, incredulous sputtering noise, before felling Ronan with a couple well-placed shoves. Ronan tumbled on top of him.

And then the two of them were kissing again, even more frantically than before, rapidly clearing the couch of several pillows. Ronan stripped Adam's shirt off, running his hands up the other boy's back with blatant reverence.

Adam did the same.

"Wait," Ronan said quickly, grabbing Adam's hand.

"What is it?"

Ronan's reply came in the form of a particularly dangerous stare.

"Hey," Adam said softly. "If this is what I think it's about..."

Ronan's expression sharpened. "Did Gansey tell you?"

"No," Adam said quickly.

"Then how the fuck—"

"I see things others don't. Especially when I'm looking." Adam paused, as if he hadn't intended to say what he just had out loud, or at least not without having thought it over a little longer. His expression was, as usual, admirably controlled, but even then his emotions were beginning to break through more than was standard. Ronan was glad he wasn't the only one struggling to keep it together. "And I've looked at you. A lot," Adam admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching into a shy smile.

Ronan stared blankly over Adam's shoulder. "Do the others know?"

"Not to my knowledge. Your tattoos hide most of it," Adam remarked, running a thumb along the faint line of raised tissue on Ronan's chest. "You have so many other scars, they blend right in.

"Fuck off," Ronan countered automatically.

Adam leaned over and kissed him. He was straddling Ronan, with one leg buried deep within the couch and the other dipping onto the floor. After a couple moments he began to move his hips in a way that suggested a lot more than mere consolation.

"You can do it to me if you want," he whispered into Ronan's ear. "I don't mind."

Ronan thrusted upwards, gasping as his jeans caught between his legs, pressing into him unexpectedly. They moved like that for a while until Ronan reached down and pushed one of Adam's legs back, wrapping his own around Adam's waist instead.

"What are you—"

"It's fine," Ronan said, his voice low and coarse. He pushed Adam's other leg back and moved until he was straddling Adam's waist from below.

There were many things that could have been said just then, most of which amounting to Ronan inquiring in one way or another as to whether Adam was truly fine with Ronan's _situation._ None of them were uttered aloud. The two of them had always operated in this way, feeling rather than speaking, allowing for silence where silence was due. For anybody else it might've been distancing, but Ronan and Adam were _excellent_ listeners. Their silences arose not from awkwardness, but from necessity, for if they spoke with their mouths, how would they be able to hear the _other_ voices—the simple truths shared in their preternatural connection to Cabeswater?

This time when Adam reached down, unbuttoning the front of Ronan's jeans, Ronan didn't stop him, and then Adam's skin was all over, bathing him, and he forgot everything, choking on frothing cataracts of his own desire. He gasped, pressing, pulling, and at the same moment realizing with all certainty that it would _never_ be enough, for he could never know Adam fully, the same way humans had been searching for the meaning of life since the inception of their race; it was impossible... hypothetical, yet without it, life became lank and meaningless as his teenagehood without the Barns. It wasn't Adam's fault. No human could be known in a fashion to satisfy the depths of Ronan's curiosity.

That didn't mean he couldn't still try.

"How long have you known?" he asked a little while later.

"Only a little while," Adam admitted, running an idle finger along the surface of the coffee table.

"I thought you saw all sorts of special shit others didn't."

"Fuck off," Adam chuckled.

Ronan held up his hands in mock incrimination. Previously, he'd been flicking a steady stream of elastic bands at the ceiling.

"Not before I wanted to fuck you, if that's what you're getting at here," Adam offered straight-forwardly.

"How _diverse._ "

"It's not... diverse," Adam said, his forehead furrowing slightly. His eyes slid back to Ronan's and held until the elastic bands halted once again. "I just..." He paused, struggling visibly to find the right words. He seemed legitimately troubled by the potential for misunderstanding between them.

 _I just love you_

Ronan's gaze softened, only for a moment, but long enough that Adam caught it.

 _Me too._

There was plenty that could be said in good time.

 _ **FIN**_


End file.
